Reading Her Heart Page 2

  Andee declined to answer but trailed after her with slumped shoulders and dragging steps, holding on to the hem of Leila's shirt.

  "But what will I do all day? This is so not fair. I can't go anywhere or do anything."

  "I know. I know, but it's already one day closer to being over and—"

  "I hate when you do that. Don't go all Little Miss Mary Sunshine on me."

  Leila bit back the four-letter-word laced retort she would normally have utilized and reminded herself of Andee's condition. "Why don't I call the agency back and tell them you've changed your mind. They can probably still send the Benjamin dude over. At least you'd have something to do for a couple hours. There'd be someone here for you to talk to."

  "Yeah, someone's grandpa. Thanks, but no thanks."

  "Andee, I can't stay here with you. I've got to get to class and work, but I can call Brittney or Alex and ask them to come by sometime during the day."

  "No! Don't you dare tell them. Don't tell anybody."

  "All right. All right. Calm down. Here, I fixed one chocolate and one strawberry. Chocolate's on the right side of the plate," Leila said as she set the dish down in front of her.

  Andee snorted disdainfully and swept her hand across the tabletop until it came up against the plate. "Yeah, give the blind girl clues. I'm not hungry any more, anyway."

  But she seized the icy cold can her fingers encountered beside the plate and gulped down mouthfuls of the caffeine-laced soft drink. As soon as Leila hurriedly gathered her backpack and stopped just short of slamming the door behind her in frustration over her friend's increasing self-pity, Andee reached for the plate again and crammed her mouth full of chocolate-infused cardboard.

  Chapter Two

  The apartment was not difficult to find. It was one of several that had been converted from a family-style motel on what had once been the edge of town. As the university and the Walmart and fast food stop-offs and shopping malls crept ever outward toward the interstate, the motel had become more valuable as an abode for cash-strapped students than as a pay-by-the-night affair.

  Miss Carlisle's home was the last on the lower floor in a line of twelve plate-glass fronted revamped bedrooms with tiny baths and kitchenettes. An ancient air conditioner hummed along beside the upper corner of the big window nearest the door. Condensation pinged into a small puddle close to his foot when Nick stopped to check the apartment number before knocking firmly.

  He waited patiently for a couple of minutes and then knocked again, more insistently, and called her name. "Miss Carlisle? It's Nick Benjamin from the Buckley agency. Are you all right?"

  After a moment, he heard the lock click, and the door eased open as much as the chain, located near eye level, would allow. Through the crack, he caught sight of half a face with a black eye patch framed by softly curling dark hair.

  "I told you not to come, Mr. Bentley, or whatever your name is." But the voice was somehow even more vulnerable than it had been the night before on the phone.

  "Benjamin. Nick Benjamin. And, yes, I remember your instructions, none too polite though they were."

  Her chin came up at that, and she would have shut the door, had he not thought to stick the toe of his shoe into the narrow crack already. She was clearly confused for a moment that the door was not budging, but, robbed of her vision, she was unsure why.

  "I don't like having doors shut in my face, Miss Carlisle. Of course, I'm not particularly fond of having phones slammed down in my ear either. And I am most definitely put out by young ladies who open their doors to strangers."

  "Well, then, why did you knock on mine if you didn't want me to open it? That was a dumb-ass thing to do."

  He grimaced and rubbed the palm of his right hand against his jean-clad thigh in an unconscious reaction to her language and lack of manners. "I knocked because I was concerned about you, and I had no other way to check on your safety. I've tried to call you back several times, but never got an answer."

  "I must have been asleep," she mumbled.

  "Had you answered me on the phone or through the closed door, I would have advised you to call the agency and let them identify me for you, particularly since you seem to be alone."

  "I'm not alone. My—my boyfriend, Rob, is in the bathroom. With a gun. He keeps it in his pocket all the time."

  "How handy for him. And how adventurous. Has he always yearned to tempt eunuch-dom?"

  "What?" she asked, irritated that the point of his comment was not immediately clear to her.

  "Never mind. Let's stop with the games, Miss Carlisle. I have other things to do today if you are truly not interested in completing your degree, as I understand passing this course will allow you to do. I thought you might be in a different frame of mind this morning and wanted to reconsider, but if not, I'll be on my way."

  The chin went down this time. In fact, her whole head hung dejectedly, and she butted it softy against the edge of the door. Nick had not realized he was holding his breath until she spoke in a soft whisper.

  "Are you really Nick Benjamin?"

  "I really am. Now, find your phone and call the number I'm going to give you. It's for the office of Buckley Resources. Someone will answer using that name. Ask to speak to Mrs. Coatsworth and tell her to hang up and call the cell phone of the man who is to be your reader for Hamlet so you can identify him. I'll hold my phone up to the door so you can hear it ring when she calls."

  She backed away slowly from the cracked door, and he heard her shifting papers and something heavier and solid within the room. In a moment, she was back at the entrance to her small apartment, phone in hand.

  He provided the number for the agency and waited patiently while she punched in the digits. He heard Andee speak into the phone and ask for Mrs. Coatsworth. She had to repeat the instructions he had provided twice—the second time in clearly exasperated fashion—before Beverly Coatsworth understood the plan. In due time, his cell phone trilled and he answered it to hear his supervisor's voice.

  "Miss Carlisle is being very cautious, and that's a good thing, so she needs some reassurance about who I am," he said, hoping his praise—though not quite deserved—would serve as an incentive for her to be more safety-focused in the future. "I'm standing outside her apartment door, which is open with the chain secured. I'm going to hold my phone out so she can hear. Can you think of some non-visual clue you can give her so she will know if I am actually Nick Benjamin, please."

  The two of them waited a moment, Nick stepping just near enough on his side to place the phone to the crack and Andee leaning her head close to it. When the supervisor spoke, she said simply, "Ask him to put his fingers through the crack in the door and then touch him. He should be wearing a heavy ring on the third finger of his left hand. It will have a multi-faceted stone in the center. Oh, and his hand will smell—I don't know—sort of like rain. If you can't feel the ring and smell the rain, slam the door on his fingers and call the police. Otherwise, let him in and get on with passing your class, Miss Carlisle. I promise he'll get you through it."

  Nick raised his left hand and moved it near the spot where he had been holding the phone in his right.

  "My hand is just below your face, Miss Carlisle. I'm going to put my fingers in now. If you swear you won't slam the door out of spite, I'll take my foot out of the way, too. I can assure you the ring is there, and you can feel it as much as you need to assure yourself. I never realized my hands smelled like rain though, so I can't guarantee that from personal knowledge, but if Miss Coatsworth says it, you can depend on it."

  He turned his hand sideways and slid it through the crack, withdrawing the toe of his shoe at the same time and praying she wouldn't panic and act on the suggestion to incapacitate him. Andee retreated slightly and raised her hands, clasping his fingers in hers and using one digit to trace the surface of his ring. Then she slowly brought her face back, lowered her head and sniffed delicately at his fingers.

  "You do smell like rain," she said with a not
e of wonder in her voice.

  He laughed. "I assume I've passed the test then. So may I come in and talk about your future?"

  She nodded slowly and let go his hand. He withdrew his fingers, and she closed the door softly, sliding the chain free before opening it fully for him to step inside this time.

  "Are you going to introduce me to Rob before we get started?" he asked conversationally, once he was standing in the middle of the cluttered room.

  "Who? Oh, well, no… I mean, he's not really… you know," she mumbled, moving hesitantly toward the small table in the corner that served as her kitchen.

  "Not really in the john with a gun in his pocket? Or not really real?"

  "He's real," she shot back. "He's just not exactly in the bathroom. Not right this minute, anyway. But he'll be coming by soon."

  He smiled a smile she couldn't see, amused by such bravado from one who looked so little and defenseless with her eyes covered and her hair in a wild tangle of curls around her little elfin freckled face. She was smaller than he had visualized.

  "Then let's sit down and decide what you'll be able to tell him when he gets here."

  "About what?"

  "Your future, of course. As I understand it, it's not going to include a college degree unless you pass this course. Correct?"

  She did her best to bristle and bluster, tapping a small canvas-shod foot against the tile floor while she hugged herself tightly with both arms. "Maybe I changed my mind about being a doctor."

  "I hadn't realized British Lit was required for premed students."

  "Then I guess there's a lot you don't know. Even if you think you've got it all figured out." She whirled around to flounce off and promptly stumbled across the kitchen chair in her path. Nick caught her by the arm she flung out and the back of her T-shirt, hauling her upright and back against his chest.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have teased you like that," he said in a conciliatory tone, rather enjoying the warmth of her slender shoulders and firm little bottom pressed against him.

  She stomped down on his instep with a ferocity that brought tears to his eyes and a word he hadn't used since his early military days to his lips. He bit it back just in time and jerked her around to face him, forgetting for a moment she couldn't see his expression.

  "That was completely uncalled for and totally unacceptable," he was finally able to say in a moderate tone of voice. "I expect an apology, and I expect it to be sincere and immediate," he added, a note of steely authority creeping into his voice.

  If Andee was impressed, she hid it well. She stood silently in his grasp, a smirk curving her lips as though she could actually see the distress she had caused and was glad of it.

  "I'm waiting, young lady, and I'm not a patient man," he said finally, tempted to give her a little shake but restraining himself when he considered her situation.

  "Take your hands off me," she said in a voice dripping with contempt. He thought with longing of precisely what he would like to do with his hands. Such action was quite impossible, of course, but his palm still itched to instill some manners in the arrogant little miss. Nevertheless, he released her and made an effort to get his emotions under control.

  "If we are going to make this work, I have to insist on basic good manners and respect," he said in a voice he trusted had just the right touch of authority to get her attention.

  "Oh, yeah? Well I'm not the least bit impressed by anything you insist on, and this is all I have to give you," she hissed and raised her right hand, middle finger carefully pointed upward, almost brushing his chest before she whirled around, reaching out for the chair that had gotten the best of her moments before.

  It was one step too far, as far as Nick was concerned, and before he could exert the self-control he prided himself on, he had issued a forceful smack across the seat of her jeans.

  She yelped, and her hands flew back in the protective gesture common to girls of all ages who have dared to push the limits too far and have discovered that some men exact a rather uncomfortable payment in return.

  "Sit down."

  His tone left little room for argument. Still, she opened her mouth in outrage to do just that. Then, just as abruptly, she closed it again, clenching her jaw to help arrest the tears she could feel forming under the gauze—tears she couldn't begin to explain to herself and was horrified to experience. But she sat, although her whole body appeared to be rigid with humiliation and anger.

  He took a deep breath, trying to decide if he should stay or go. She swiped at a tear that had escaped beneath the patch, and it decided him. No way could he abandon her unless she ordered him to leave.

  *****

  Andee jumped a little at the scrape of furniture on tile and automatically turned to face the area where he was taking a chair and shifting it into position at a right angle to her seat. Propping her elbows on the table top, she leaned in slightly to take the pressure off the spot where he had chosen to express his displeasure. She suddenly realized she could smell that same whiff of fresh rain drops she had noticed while standing at her door. That must mean Benjamin's hand was somewhere near her face. The thought brought on a curious physical reaction—a battle between flight and fascination.

  "Miss Carlisle, I'm here to help you," he said. He was so close she instinctively drew back a little, and the aroma of his skin became fainter.

  Amazing that she could tell a difference, she thought. She was surprised at the information her senses were feeding her, but then fresh outrage took over her mental processes.

  "Well, that didn't help. At all," she hissed.

  "That remains to be seen. I'm sorry it was necessary, but I won't tolerate disrespect, and I certainly won't put up with physical attacks."

  "You didn't mind attacking me," she said indignantly.

  Nick spoke calmly, but firmly, "I think you are probably wise enough to distinguish between an unprovoked effort to cause bodily harm to a portion of the body that is vulnerable to cracking, crushing or cutting, and a disciplinary effort focused on a part of the anatomy designed to receive it without serious threat of breakage or blood loss."

  "You sp-sp…" she stuttered, then blushed and tried again. "You beat me."

  "I smacked your bottom, and you are lucky to have had it so well protected or you might not be able to sit right now. That, however, is in the past. The question is, once again, what are you prepared to do to salvage your future?"

  "That's none of your business," she said, but her voice lacked the haughty air she had managed earlier.

  He sighed, clearly prepared to revisit familiar territory. "Your friend's concern, your father's money, and your willingness to let me into your house have made it my business. At least for right now. However, if you truly are not interested in getting a good enough mark on your exam to earn your diploma, I have better ways to utilize my resources."

  She thought about telling him what to do with his resources. She thought about it a split second too long.

  "Do you have someone else who can read for you, maybe someone you feel more comfortable with than me?" he asked.

  His voice was maddeningly calm while her heart pounded.

  Andee forced herself to consider the dilemma seriously. He gave her time, but it was clear to both of them within seconds that she had no acquaintance to turn to. She tried another tack.

  "You're not the only reader in your office. I can ask for somebody else."

  "Indeed, you can. But you might want to consider this first. I am more than someone who can pronounce the words for you in an orderly fashion. I understand Hamlet, as well as anyone can, I think, and I can help you understand it. There are other technically proficient readers at Buckley Resources. Not one of them knows or cares a fig about Shakespeare and, certainly, not about the Dane. They may be able to help you squeak by, provided you apply yourself diligently and then simply memorize copious amounts of material you can regurgitate on the test. I can make you want to know what happens next, to whom, and how. And
unless you are an absolute airhead who refuses to hear what is said to her and to use what brain she has—which I am reasonably certain you are not and will not—you will emerge from this reading with an appreciative grasp of the play that will guarantee you a top of the class grade. It's up to you how much bang you get for your daddy's buck, of course."

  "What do you know about my father?"

  "Only what your friend made mention of when she phoned the agency. She said he had indicated this was your last chance to live on his dime. And before you get all righteously indignant over her sharing of that information, you might want to ask yourself if it's true, and, if it is, what your options will be if you fire me. And, by the way, we've only got an hour left."

  She wanted to tell him to leave and never come back. She wanted to leave with him—eyes wide open. She wanted—more than just her eyesight back and a diploma in hand. But she couldn't quite put a name to what was floating at the edge of her consciousness, teasing her and testing her. Andee shifted again and quickly hitched herself over on her left hip, where the feeling was less tender. The reminder that it was necessary to sit gently made her clench her jaw again in frustration and embarrassment.

  "Since you're here and taking my father's money, I guess you'd better do something," she sniffed.

  "I did something already. But that didn't cost your daddy anything," he said, and she could hear a smile in his voice. She knew it was there and was amazed at the messages her other senses were providing. A slight tingly feeling settled somewhere below her waistline and confounded her even more when she thought about the solid feel of his body supporting hers and the secure clasp of his arm when she had stumbled and would have fallen otherwise, thought about his baritone voice and the smell of rain. She wondered what Nick Benjamin looked like. What he tasted—no, no she didn't wonder that. The very idea was disgusting. She gave herself a little mental shake and tossed her head.